A Study of Insanity
by Victoria Kathleen Wright
Summary: But then she looked up and dashed away any pity he may have entertained because instead of having tears raining from her wide, ridiculously innocent brown eyes there was determination shining in them. And he sighed.


**Note: Can be read as a part of the Ballad of Mona Lisa universe, or a separate story with a similar premise.**

* * *

She smiled politely, and thanked him for escorting her to her room.

He personally found her to be quite sane; boring, perhaps, or aloof, but sane nevertheless. Her demeanor was hardly charming, but she was company harmless and pleasant enough, nothing like her predecessors.

But as soon as he opened her door, a truly terrible expression of both fear and anger passed over her face.

"No lights! No lights!" The maiden hastily shook her head, erasing any sign of her previous calm composure.

The caretaker reeled, his head and torso leaning away from her. Perhaps, he thought, here was the demon in her finally rearing its ugly head. Yes, since why else would a young lady prefer the darkness?

He was elderly, but he was still strong, and certainly strong enough in his spirit (and quite honestly, his fright) to grab the possessed maiden's arms and twist them around her back so he could put on the rope he had so sympathetically and foolishly removed earlier.

Lastly, he gave her a push (gentle, though, because as afraid as he was, he was still a gentleman). He closed and bolted the door, hoping that the frenzy that had overtaken her might retire soon.

Inside, though, the real demon noiselessly strolled toward his victim.

She had her hands covering her face, which connected to her curved back, straight, smooth, and even white enough that he could compare it to a swan's neck. Her legs were hovering just above the edge of the cot she was sitting on. He knew that if he weren't here, she'd be curled up into fetal position, and for a moment, he felt a stab of pity for the weak little redhead he scorned. It was a foreign emotion, since he was not one to think of anyone but himself, but at this point, his suffering was long over and hers was just about to culminate.

But then she looked up and dashed away any pity he may have entertained because instead of having tears raining from her wide, ridiculously innocent brown eyes, there was determination shining in them.

And he sighed.

Because, after all, exactly how many times could a person retain hope after absolutely everyone betrayed them? How many times could a person be determined to survive after having their life suppressed for so long?

Apparently, she could, and that was what probably made her unique from all the others. All the others had succumbed once they realized there was no escape from this jail.

He'd told her stories of all the other poor souls, yet she continued to hope.

Her inane _hope _just made him more determined than ever to crush her spirits, make her suffer as all the others had.

She smiled up at him. Smiled! Even though she had just been forsaken by the last ally she had, she was smiling up at a man who had done nothing but jeer at and discourage her since she had first arrived.

"Hello, Thomas. Happy, are you, to finally see me at the point of despair? " Her voice had an edge of bitterness to it, something which her facial expression had not alluded to.

"_All of you_, you just wish to see me broken, do you not? _They_, my own family, choose to condemn me as unhinged as soon as I veer just a little off-track. Then everyone else chooses to degrade me because of my last name, the same insignificant detail that got me into this mess! And finally there's you - the poorest company in a cage where I'm slowly _really_ turning mental!"

He stood stock-still for a while, much to her surprise. He'd never been one for shock. Actually, it wasn't shock that he was dealing with so much as the unexpectedness of her outburst. Yes, it had been impending, but it had been something like a goal. - a set idea that you believe you will eventually get to but that you just _know _you won't ever get to.

For him, it was like finally acknowledging that he wanted something more for her. It was jarring for him to see her finally accept her hopeless situation. However, he did hope the fact that her face still didn't show any despair meant that maybe she hadn't completely succumbed to her situation.

* * *

A year later, Ginevra Weasley, youngest daughter of Lord and Lady Weasley, died in obscurity, just a month away from her execution.

The general public never found out, as the youngest Weasley had been ushered away out of the public spotlight, not to mention the upper echelons of society, over two years ago.

The only man who came to visit her grave every few years was the old caretaker, but he was required to visit the asylum's graveyard to "make sure the witches weren't up to their old tricks again".

He'd always walk past her grave while wondering why they placed her next to _that one_, the first captive of the asylum, the one from _way_ before her (or even his) time.

Ginevra, to his bemusement, had been laid next to Mr. Thomas M. Riddle.


End file.
